Black Perjury
by jazelock
Summary: There are whispers of the new terror in the night. The vigilante jury and their leader, the judge. A group of thirteen thirsting for blood, summoning those on their list, and dealing their own twisted semblance of justice. The only verdict is death.


The rain fell

The rain fell. Somehow, in a blatant defiance of the laws governing physics, a shrouded figure's hair stood tall and proud, though wet. Sora's face was tilted at a gentle angle, blue eyes hidden behind lids. Not a single lock of milk-chocolate hair fell over his forehead. In anger at this display of insolence, the droplets of water from the heavens splattered down with a renewed ferocity.

It was an instinct that made his eyes snap open and dart up and down the street hurriedly. The intuition that had kept him alive since his orphanage days—and gods knew he needed it. No tumbleweed rolled past, no mysterious wind blew scraps of paper by in a wide shot of him looking down the length of the sidewalk. However. This was the same vague feeling that had occurred in him right before his former caretaker had walked out the door and never returned. It had happened some times both prior to and after the big incident, but never on the same scale again, until now.

When he had mentioned it to his caretaker, before he had vanished, of course, Jack had nodded wisely, then hiccupped. "Sora, my lad. That is an uncanny knack my dearly beloved granny used to have. 'Never doubt it, Jackie, me love', she said. 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.' That's Shakespeare, that is." That was all the explanation he had given that pertained to the subject before he burped and started on the wonders of _A Midsummer's Night Dream_.

And something wicked had come. Sora was sure of it. People didn't just walk over the doorstep and disappear without a trace. Jack wasn't the type to just completely abandon an old life for a new; no, he was more the type to have to be dragged home by his charges, reeking of whiskey and rum. But no word had come, no news of a bar fight or even several fights. No angry bartender or disgusted whore demanding someone take that no-good drunk home. And when news had come, not of Jack, but of frightening, stealthy criminals lurking, the orphans had all hastily drifted away. Which, Sora reflected as he quickly scrambled up a drainpipe, had seemed the only solution at the time. Now, it just seemed kind of dumb. Vague remnants of memory reminded him that they had thought such a large group would have been too conspicuous. Now, alone, the realization had quickly sunk in that maybe safety in numbers wouldn't have been quite so bad.

Over the metal bar on the roof, zigzag between old bicycle stands, through a metal door and down the stairs, but not before locking the door from the inside securely. It was all mechanically done by now. Sora crept down the stairs, wincing at each squeak and shuffle. In this state of nervous tension, he barely managed to avoid a heart attack when his pocket squawked. Hurriedly, with frozen fingers, he yanked out his transceiver and pressed the talk button. "H-hello?" Static.

"Hello?"

Oh, Sora, very smart, he cursed at himself before he sat down in the narrow hallway and frantically dug out a pen. Ok, today was what? The sixteenth? Sixteen times eighteen so carry the four. Ok, two eight eight. Which was an even number which meant…damn it, was it subtract nineteen or add on for evens? Come on, come on, damn it, damn it all to hell—

His transceiver squawked again. A human voice following the sound immediately this time. "Sora?"

"Riku!" Sora snatched it up and pressed the button. "Riku! I'm sorry, I forgot to reset the channel, and then I started calculating and I forgot if it was add or subtract for—"

"Subtract. Reset it. We'll talk there."

There was no use trying to talk to him now, not while he was in this mood. Not that he was being particularly harsh. Everyone knew that caution was the daily word of the day now and Riku's shortness was just his way of seeing to that. Sora sighed and squatted on the floor. What was the number he had ended up with? Oh yeah, two eight eight. So subtract nineteen, which gave him…two six nine. Ok. Alright. He was calm.

"Riku? It's Sora."

"Finally." While the word was reproving, Riku's tone held more than a little hint of exasperated fondness. "Ok, listen closely. Cloud's been scouting the streets and he thinks they may be on the prowl tonight. As usual, no one knows who for. Report in if you think you know who or if you see anything." He paused. "Oh, and be careful."

"I'm careful." Sora automatically responded. "Thanks, Riku." In a less agitated state of mind now, he replaced the gadget in his hoodie's pocket and took in a long breath. A thoroughly vague conversation, but he understood nonetheless. The Jury was thirsting for someone's blood tonight. But that was ok, because Riku and Cloud had it under control. He just had to be more quiet than usual. He had to be near invisible—no, he had to pretend he didn't exist at all. No problem.

The shivering was back. It always came back at the thought of the Jury. Whispers had started coming about the new terror in the night weeks after Jack hadn't come back and the orphans had split up. A group of thirteen. A vigilante judge and a jury that dealt their own twisted version of justice. And not just randomly, oh no. It would almost be less frightening if the victims were random because then one could trust in one's own skills of evasion enough to fool oneself into less fear. No, rumor had it that they had a list of prey all made out already. And if you were on the list, you would be hunted down relentlessly.

No bodies were ever found, but names, or at least descriptions, of people taken began circulating. Never mind how anyone knew who had been taken by _them_ and who had just died of other means. Everyone just knew. A young Chinese waitress and her fiancé. A crippled boy and his grandfather. That orphanage owner, Jack. The young seamstress who had given out clothes to everyone who needed some.

Sora shivered again. The general consensus was that once you were caught, you were killed. Brutally, likely as not, people agreed with nods of morbid fascination.

But he was safe here, at least for tonight. He looked around at the apartment he had just entered. Ok, so the door was unlocked, how else could he have entered? And one of the windows was clearly unprotected. He could take care of that though. In the next half-hour, he pushed a tall wardrobe in front of the only non-boarded window and a table in front of the door. Sora carefully dragged the remaining table and chairs and placed them strategically in a back room. To anyone who walked in, it would seem as if the furniture were scattered haphazardly, when in fact, they cast shadows that offered a tiny space shrouded in blackness that could hide a small figure effectively. A small figure exactly Sora's size to be accurate.

He then stood there panting, sweating as he surveyed his work. Riku would be proud, he decided. That was his rule for anything he did. And it worked. Riku had been on the streets longer than Sora had, knew the tricks and rules of living like this better than most anyone else did. So if Riku would have been proud, then it was the best that could be humanly done. Sora knew he was lucky the older boy had decided to mentor him unofficially, especially in a life as chaotic as this. Most acquaintances you met one day, were gone forever the next. Sora knew he was extremely lucky that Riku had decided to stick around and close to him too.

Was that a shadow? His thoughts shattered as he whipped around. Nothing was there, of course. All the entrances were sealed; he had seen to that. He was just jumpy. But there was still that niggling sense in his mind. _Something wicked this way comes._ And that feeling was never wrong…

_By the pricking of my thumbs..._

"Hey kid."

Sora couldn't help it; couldn't have helped it. He shrieked even as he turned to see an honest-to-gods demon. It had to be a demon, it had to be. What else besides a demon could hang from the ceiling without any sign of discomfort? Were those pointed ears he saw? And he swore the eyes glowed sulfurous yellow in the dark! Forget what Riku and Cloud had told him about there being no such things as demons; forget what everyone had ever said!

It grinned. No sharp teeth, but then if it ate him, wouldn't it hurt more then? Oh gods, oh gods, oh no, nonono…

"You've been a bad boy. Now it's time you faced the music." A long firearm shifted into view from behind the shrouded figure and even the dim moonlight gleamed off the metallic XIII that was carved into the stainless metal.

Sora wasn't sure if the glib attitude was meant to freak him out more or put him at ease. But he didn't care. Because he knew this was a Jury member—it was obvious now—and this was worse than a demon because they _had_ come for him. Had he had a second longer, he would have felt shame at his last thought before melting into darkness. _Riku, help me!_

Xigbar looked down at the prone figure and tsked. Nasty bruise the kid was going to have on the back of his head now. Ah well, didn't matter. White teeth flashed in a feral smile again. Well, well, to think that they'd finally caught up with Sora. The chosen Keyblade Master. Well, well.


End file.
